Arbitration
by The Loud Guy
Summary: The story of the last hours of the Hero, before he was a Shade. Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

Less than half of a mile of desert separated them, but it felt as if the two armies were insulated by worlds. One stood in the shadow of an ancient fortress, so sacred that they would not occupy it even now, in the very extremity of peril. Their front line bristled with soldiers too large to be human, mountains of armor and axes the size of a man's torso. Archers, each of them women and each of them beautiful, tended to their bows and checked their arrows, knowing that they would probably die in the name of their god. The two witches soared in the air above the fortress, working some nameless spell. They would do something grand and terrible in their last moments, to be sure, but few had any real hope of survival. The crones swept down, flying along the battle lines, and a roar rose to meet them. Their presence swept aside fear, fed the flames of their devotion, called to mind the face of their god. The armored titans raised their axes, clashed them together, and the archers raised their voices in a hellish scream that echoed across the sands for miles.

The other army was headed by the General, who was astride his horse, patrolling the lines of his troops. When he passed, the nervous air and bawdy chatter fell away, replaced by an awed hush. He was not a big man, nor did he ride a big horse, but when he looked over his troops it was with eyes like chips of ice. His approval was meted out silently, in short nods and gestures of his hands. His captains stood at the head of every regiment, waiting for his orders, and when he delivered them they went to work immediately. Every once in a while he would look out over the dunes, and the soldiers would follow his eye. The sands obscured the enemy army, but the fortress loomed large and the witches were visible from time to time.

The General lifted his right hand, fist closed, and the captains ran from their regiments to gather around him. Every eye was on that gathering; camp had been broken hours ago. The soldiers knew that the General spoke only rarely, preferring to communicate orders through the gestures of his hands. Those gestures were faster than words, more honest, and easier to understand. That spoke to the entire character of the General: some of the more wizened soldiers had watched him enter their ranks as little more than a boy, clawing his way up the chain of command by virtue of courage and doggedness and an unwillingness to leave a man behind. The war with the Gerudo had been going on for five years, was rumored to have been delayed by his actions as a young man. The King had died years ago, and the kingdom had united under the banner of the Princess, but the General was the one who made sure that the alliance held in the face of Ganondorf's invasion.

He had been the one to drive the shadow beasts out of the Kokiri Forest, back when he was a sergeant.

He had taken a hundred men and half as many Gorons and cleared Death Mountain of its occupational forces.

His forces were the ones that had made it so that the Zora never needed to enter the war at all, who had relieved the Gorons of their need to protect their home, who had driven the Gerudo back into the desert. He carried a banner for each of the peoples populating Hyrule, wore the Royal Family's crest as a cloak.

When the time came to bury the bodies, he had never delegated the duty to someone else. In those times he was just another soldier.

In secret he was called the Hero.

They - each of them, all of them - loved him, would have followed him into the mouth of the Sacred Realm, stormed the very halls of the gods so long as they could fight in his shadow.

The captains backed away from the General, and every soldier held his or her breath.

The sound of the Gerudo women marching to war washed over the dunes.

The General drew his sword, its metal a shifting green and purple inlaid with black roses on the blade, and held it high.

The soldiers cried out with one voice. "FOR HYRULE!"

He swung the blade forward, pointed beyond the dunes to the rising cloud of dust.

"FOR ZELDA!"

Men and women roared as one, and the line surged forward. Their voices rose as one, and the screams of the Gerudo were drowned out by the battle hymn of the Hylians as they marched to war.

This would be the end.


	2. Chapter 2

The Gerudo were excellent guerrilla fighters; there were none better in the entire world. Excellent horse riders, expert archers, given to hit-and-run tactics that no other military could hope to pull off, they were as dangerous on the offensive as any force twice their size.

That did not matter here. Their horses had slowly been lost to them in the last few months, and those that remained were too sick and weak to mount any kind of real attack, unable to feed well on the dry grasses that clung to life in the desert. They still had their bows, and there were enough arrows to get them through the day, but their best element of attack had been taken from them, and now they marched in lines like Hylians, with the Iron Knuckles holding the front line while the swordmistresses followed behind them.

The Hylians still had their cavalry, but they were nowhere to be seen. The first soldiers of the Hylian army were cresting the hill, now – pikemen in heavy armor with tall shields. They would never stand long against the Iron Knuckles, but they would provide gaps through which their more agile foot soldiers might slip through.

That was how it should have gone. Kotake and Koume had assumed from the beginning that that would be the case, and they would be able to bolster the front lines with their magic. The two old women were not military strategists, but they understood brute force and thought they could level more than what the Hylians had brought to bear. The Iron Knuckles were as strong as any they had ever made, each woman in that armor being the bravest of her sistes. They would cut the Hylian lines to pieces.

A Hylian captain in silver armor walked in front of the lines of pikemen, holding her helmet under the crook of one arm. As the Hylians began to descend the first dune, the width of their line became apparent: they outnumbered the Gerudo nearly five to one. This would not be a battle. It would be a massacre.

"They think they can beat us with numbers, Kotake!"

"So they have always thought, Koume."

"More bodies for the pyre, I think!"

"The strategy has worked well for them before."

"_We_ were not here before. We will show them – we will cleave their lines with ice and fire!" She cackled, and her sister cackled in turn. The sound was piercing, carried faintly over the sound of the Iron Knuckles marching.

The Hylians ceased their advance, perched primarily on the side of the dune, with a long climb down before them – and a long climb up for the Gerudo.

"Do you see their archers, Koume?"

"I see them, Kotake. We can't attack their line directly, or we'll be feathered like a pair of cuccos."

"You are right, but it doesn't matter. Their aim is not so fine as our archer's, and even with their height they will not be able to do much damage. The Iron Knuckles don't fear arrows, and our swordmistresses can deflect errant projectiles with ease."

"Forward!" Koume called, and the Iron Knuckles charged, and the swordwomen increased their pace behind them.

The Hylian captain raised her fist, and the heavy pikemen knelt, giving the archers a clear shot. She waited, unmoving, as the Gerudo line advanced. By now they were close enough to see her expression, impassive and patient.

The Iron Knuckles came to the bottom of the dune, and their pace slowed considerably as they fought their way up. It was less than a hundred yards before they would be upon the front lines.

The captain waited. One Gerudo archer broke orders to take a shot at her, and the arrow fell in the sand at her feet. The captain did not flinch, but her eyes blazed.

When only fifty yards separated the front lines, she lowered her hand, and the Hylian archers let fly. Arrows arced high, almost stupidly high, so high as to be ineffective even if they did hit anything, and the witches watched as the projectiles sailed into the air.

They were the only ones who noticed that the arrows were sparking and hissing. They almost had time to bark warnings or cast a spell before the first volley landed.

Explosions of fire and shattered armor sent detritus flying in all directions as the bomb arrows detonated. Iron Knuckles crumpled into heaving, flaming piles of scrap metal, falling headlong onto their faces, their surviving fellows stepping over their corpses as they advanced. The women behind them hesitated, stunned by the sudden carnage, and then – as a body, as a single creature driven to madness by fear and the smell of blood – broke formation and charged past the behemoths.

Then the second volley of bomb arrows were loosed, their trajectories lower and more lethal.

The heavy percussion of the explosions was punctuated by screams, and the Hylian captain drew her sword.

"_Charge!_"

The Hylian line advanced with a roar like demons, the pikes lowered at the front, each remaining Iron Knuckle now confronting several heavily armored soldiers. The swordswomen clashed with the light infantry, who were not so skilled but were better served by their armor; the Gerudo only had boiled leather to protect them, and it showed in that first clash.

The witches joined their hands together, summoning their respective magics, ready to cleave the Hylian line, to slaughter the pointy-eared soldiers like insects, and were interrupted by a hail of arrows as thick as Locusts. Kotake screamed, breaking their hold as she dove for cover, and Koume spat curses as an arrow buried itself in her shoulder. They retreated further back as their own archers returned the volley, but aiming uphill cut their lethality by so much that they might as well not have bothered. They had been stupid, Koume knew, to charge. They should have let the Hylians come to them on level ground.

The sounds of their sisters and daughters and nieces fighting and dying drowned out the wind, and the two witches fell back to their own personal guard, five supreme swordmistresses and an Iron Knuckle that was much heavier than the rest.

"We have made a mistake, Kotake!"

"I know it, Koume!"

"We are going to lose this battle unless we retreat!"

"We can't retreat. Not now! They'll kill us as we flee! All we can do is push, and kill them!"

"It's impossible!"

"For you and me, maybe, but _together_-"

"That's supposed to be for emergencies!"

"This _is_ an emergency!"

"Gaaaahhhh! So be it!"

The sound of steel clashing on steel erupted behind them, at the rear guard, and when they looked back they felt their hearts seize in their chest.

The Hylian cavalry had swung around the dunes – how could they move so fast? – and were now clashing with the rear guard. They were armed with spears and swords and bows, the elite of the Hylian army, and they were cutting their way to the heart of the army like a sword slicing through flesh. At the head was a man atop a red horse, a fairy sword in his left hand and a polished shield in his right, his cross-shaped helmet the symbol of his rank.

"He's here!" Kotake screamed.

"The General! The General!" Koume did not scream it; she could barely breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

He shielded his eyes against the glare of the Sun as he and his warriors rode through the Gerudo. Most of them got out of their way, some out of fear and some out of tactical awareness that the witches and the last Iron Knuckle had a better chance than common footsoldiers. Those who did not flee were trampled or cut down. He looked into every face as he brought down his sword, and would carry those looks of pain and fear into his dreams.

Epona heaved under him, her flank wet with perspiration. She was not a war horse by breeding, but she was still the best horse in this army and he would trust himself to no other. She did not fear blood, and she carried wounds that would have crippled other mounts. He knew that taking her into this charge meant that she might die, and no decision had ever been harder for him. She had been his friend for so very, very long.

That is why, when the witches cried out to him, he drew to a halt, and signalled for his soldiers to do the same.

"General!" Kotake said. "You may yet win this battle, but my sister and I will destroy your army in the attempt!"

Koume could barely make herself heard over the din of battle at the front lines. "Face us in combat, and we will guarantee that no harm will come to another of your soldiers!"

He looked around as the Gerudo soldiers drew away from him and his cavalry.

"General," said one of his captains, a black-haired woman named Ayell, "we cannot trust them. There will be treachery. Let's finish this now, to the last, and end the threat now." He silenced her with a motion of his fist, and she clamped her jaw shut.

He looked at the two witches, and at the giant Iron Knuckle that guarded them. The five swordmistresses were looking at each other in confusion, waiting to see what would happen. Killing them would be pointless, a waste, and would cost him many lives in any case. No. No more death today, saved where there needed to be.

He raised the fourth and fifth fingers of his right hand, and the cry went up from his captains.

"Cease fighting! All combatants, withdraw and disarm!"

And the witches cried out in kind, together:

"Sisters, pull back! Pull back, beyond us! We will settle this ourselves!"

The last clash lasted only a minute longer, and then the Gerudo and the Hylians pulled away from each other, forming a space in which the General was mounted alone. The witches floated in the air above him.

It was so hot here, and Epona shivered under him. He stroked her neck to calm her, the intimate touch of an old friend. When she had stopped shaking he dismounted, stroked her muzzle, handed her reins off to Ayell. As Epona was lead away he turned back to the witches, drew his sword, exhaled through his nose. This was the old form; it hadn't really been so long.

There was no signal for the duel to begin; one moment there was nothing, and the next there was a stream of fire cutting through the air. He caught it with his shield and it ricocheted off with no sense of physical weight. He positioned the shield carefully, angled it until Kotake screamed as fire engulfed her. Koume released her stream of magic too late, looked at her sister in horror, and the two of them snarled in one voice as they looked at him.

He did not give them time to do anything else; he was no longer a child in a man's body, and his hands moved with the practiced precision of a soldier. He brought out his bow, knocked an arrow, channelled his magic into it until it radiated cold so biting it frosted his eyebrows. He released it, and Koume howled in pain. He knocked another arrow, stepping forward as flames exploded around the tip, and the line of his soldiers began to bash their weapons on their shields.

Then the largest Iron Knuckle broke out from the line, charging toward him, its axe trailing behind it. His reaction was instantaneous; he turned, loosed his arrow, saw how it burst against the titan's chest with no effect more pronounced than making the armor smoke. He threw his bow aside as he drew his sword again, and he heard his soldiers roar in fury as the Iron Knuckle struck with an axe that could have killed a dozen men in a single blow. He dove under the horizontal cut, felt the wind off of its passage, came up with a slash that bit into metal and leather, danced away from the behemoth as it staggered.

He was running through scenarios in his head, considering all the different equipment he was carrying, how he could use it to fight the Iron Knuckle and the witches at the same time – and then a flash of light and a triumphant laugh told him he only had _one_ witch to worry about, and that this might be too much.

Twinrova floated into the air above the Iron Knuckle, fire and ice streaming from the wild mound of her hair, laughing as she looked down at him.

"Not so easy now, is it, boy? I trust you won't mind if we bring in the _one_ little guardia-"

The bomb arrow struck the Iron Knuckle in the side of its head, sending it reeling. He looked over, saw Ayell notching another arrow as a wide-eyed sergeant stood ready with more. Her eyes were the color of steel, and her expression matched. She let loose again, and the Iron Knuckle began to turn to her, its axe raised.

The General leaped and a blast of fire hit the ground where he had been a moment before, reducing the sand there to muddy glass. He landed in front of the Iron Knuckle as it was rearing back for a strike, shoved against it with his shield hard enough to knock off its balance. Twinrova threw a blast of ice, hitting only sand as he ran up the Iron Knuckle's front, leaped over its head, brought his sword down in a chop that would have cloven stone. He felt the blade bite into the helmet, felt steel give – but it remained more or less whole as he landed behind the behemoth. It hadn't been enough. He would need to do it again.

Twinrova's grunt of effort gave him all the warning he needed, and when he turned he thrust his shield out to meet the wave of fire. The shield drank it in, pulled the magic into itself and radiated the power of its heat. Twinrova's surprise did not show on her face, if she felt any.

She hurled another bolt at him, and he caught it, and the shield began to warp the air around it with the heat trapped inside of it. One more. If she threw ice, he would dodge. But if she threw fire, just one more time...

The Iron Knuckle swung as it turned, and out of instinct he threw up his shield to absorb the blow. He realized his mistake just before the weapon struck.

The shield shattered and the magic within it exploded, lifting him up like a gigantic hand and throwing him onto the ground a dozen yards away. He heard the Iron Knuckle's colossal body hit the ground a moment later. He wasn't stunned – he was so much stronger than other people it bordered on absurd – and rose almost immediately, saw the armor fall to pieces, saw the familiar woman lying unconscious in what was left of it.

He was not holding his sword.

"You shouldn't have been so careless!" Twinrova laughed, and he realized his sword had flown in the opposite direction that he had. She raised one hand, brought it down, and fire engulfed his sword, a benevolent goddess's gift given out of gratitude and love. He knew it was too late already, could see the black roses running into unrecognizable slag as the sword melted. Its magic was spent, now.

She looked back at him, winked, smiled a murderer's smile.

"Now that that's over, I'm willing to call the duel in my favor. Are you?" She looked back at the gathered Hylians, and her smile shifted into a grin as her full lips pulled back from her teeth. "Now, which one of you was it that was shooting arrows? We can't have cheaters, you know."

He was already running toward the fallen Iron Knuckle.

"Oh, it's so hard telling you Hylians apart. Was it you? You?"

His legs wouldn't move as fast as he demanded of them, couldn't. Arrows wouldn't hurt her now, and even the bombs could be blocked with her magic.

"But how will I know who to punish for that transgression?" She purred like an enormous cat, her eyes narrow and hungry. "I know..."

He reached the enormous axe, wrapped his colorfully-gauntleted hands around its handle, shifted his weight.

She raised one hand, and fire roared from it. "I'll just have to roast you _ALL!_"

He threw the axe with all of his strength.

The sound it made as it buried itself in her ribs was like something one would hear in a butcher shop. She floated there in the air a moment longer, looked down at the torrent of blood which poured from her savage wound. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell.

She fell as one person, but landed as two. Kotake was dead; Koume still screamed in pain when she hit the ground, though she was nearly as bloody as her sister.

Aside from her ragged, pained breathing and the heavy tread of his feet as he walked to her, no one present made a sound. No one dared.

He knelt next to Koume and she coughed up blood so old and black that it looked as if she could have been a corpse already. She looked up at him with rheumy eyes, and something inside of him pitied her.

"You lose," she said, and she smiled her gap-toothed, bloody smile.

The meaningless words of an old woman. But part of him didn't believe it, either. He looked up, past the defeated faces of the women of the desert, to the fortress where the true enemy waited in blasphemy.

"He is not there," she said, and then he looked down at her with wide eyes, waved over his captains and sergeants. They were beside him almost instantly. "All of this time, we... we were only here to distract you, to delay you. You have moved your entire military to crush us. Now you have no one to protect your home... your princess..." She coughed, but beneath that cough there was laughter, the kind of laughter that one could carry comfortably into the afterlife. "He has won... by now. You... lose. ... _You ... lose_."

She died there on the sands, removed from her sister. He rose, not even looking at her. He turned, and there was one of his sergeants, a boy that he had just promoted himself, who he had not had time to learn the name of.

"General!" As he spoke, the sergeant unstrapped his shield, unsheathed his sword, and held them both out with an awkward reverence. "Please. These are mine, but... I think you need them. We know what you can do. Word of what she said will spread in a few minutes. The army will run itself to death trying to get home, but if we know you're there..."

The captains said nothing, looked to their General.

He reached out, took the shield, strapped it to his back. He took the sword, sheathed it in his scabbard, which it fit unerringly.

Ayell ran to him with a blue ocarina in her hands; she must have retrieved it from Epona's saddlebags. She handed it to him like someone handing over a child.

He took a moment, looked around at his gathered soldiery, at the enemy so recently defeated. So little of it felt real, though he would have died for any of them. Now there was something worse.

He brought the ocarina to his lips and blew a clear, sharp note. The sound was still perfect, though he did not expect anything less. Then he played a song that he had learned long ago, in a time that none of these people would ever have to live, the notes echoing across the dunes, carried off by the wind. It was not a long song, and when he finished he was engulfed in white light. In the next moment he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

The castle had not held for very long. Perhaps it could have, against most forces, but the body of its troops were gone and only the royal guard remained as truly competent soldiery. They were the best of the best, but they had not proven enough for what slammed up against the walls that day.

Moblins were supposed to have been monsters from fairy tales, a relic of a less civilized age, but the brutes had managed to get inside the walls without being seen, and Ganondorf had been among them. So much of the death that day could be attributed to him alone. More Moblins had come in through the sewers, flanked by Octoroks that moved at the behest of Ganondorf. They had not known he wielded that kind of power over the minds of beasts. If they had, maybe things could have gone differently. It did not matter now, though.

Bodies littered the castle, tracing his path of destruction through its heart. Most of his Moblins were scattered on the ground with the Hylian defenders, but it didn't matter; for this last part, his power alone would be more than enough.

Ganondorf looked up, surveying the tower that he now stood on the outside of. There would be a few dozen guards here, posted at different levels, and then at the very top there would be the throne room. There he would face the best – Impa and her personal staff – and after that? Ah, that was the long of it.

The Moblins grunted and snorted, jostled each other in their eagerness to be near him, but he paid them no mind. They were little more than beasts, tools that served the purpose of bringing him this far. The last of them would die before he reached Zelda and he would not mourn for them.

He had felt Koume and Kotake die a few minutes prior. Now, with a moment of quiet where he had only to contend with the sound of death, he sighed: those two he would miss. They were not good mothers and he had no real love for them, but they had taught him much about magic and that was worth being remembered for. The thought of the General killing them made his blood boil, and he hoped that the pest was already dead, but then he didn't: the thought of that fool's reaction when he learned of this ruse gladdened him immensely. Yes, let the General be alive now. He would crush the fool with his own hands in due time.

He faced the massive door to the tower, raised one hand, and began to gather his power. The air warped around him, darkness flowing out from his palm like a living thing, and he felt the heady rush that magic always gave him.

Then an arrow seemed to sprout from the skull of one of the Moblins, and it yelped before falling down and bursting into flames.

Another arrow struck as he turned, and another Moblin fell. Then another, and another, and as he saw the man who was firing the shots emerge from the shadows of an archway the last Moblin died with an arrow in its throat.

He laughed. "So, you anticipated my trick, eh?" He thought about it, and shook his head. "But no. I don't think you did. Maybe you have your own magic for these occasions, eh? That's surprising." He gestured at the Moblins even as their bodies disappeared. "You have killed my shock troops." The General prepared another arrow, and Ganondorf chuckled. "Me too, then. You will find I'm not as easy to-"

The arrow struck his chest and exploded into corrosive light that covered his entire body. He roared in agony and fury as every cell was suddenly lanced with burning needles of pain, and when the light subsided he collapsed to his knees before struggling back to his feet.

"Good magic," he said, and then spit. "I underestimated you. It won't happen again." Another arrow of light shrieked at him, and he lashed out with his hand, knocking it aside so that it exploded harmlessly behind him. "Prepare yourself, boy! This is the end of Hyrule, and you will bear witness from beyond the grave!"

He gathered and threw a bolt of power that should have reduced the man to a smoking ruin – but with terrifying ease the General deflected the bolt with his sword, sending it careening back at him. Ganondorf spun around it, drawing his colossal Gerudo sword in the same movement, and charged across the outer courtyard. The General met him halfway. The ringing of steel on steel echoed throughout the castle.

Ganondorf's elimination of the castle guards had been thorough but not absolute; a few stragglers on patrol had not been encountered, and one was now watching from the shadows, wondering if he should try to interfere, deciding that there was no point to it. It was something of a cliche, but it was also true: he would only get in the way. Ganondorf was a terrifying swordsman, both fast and hideously strong, wielding his greastsword with one hand and appalling finesse, but the General fought like a field surgeon, every motion calculated to counter the Gerudo style perfectly. The two were a whirlwind of steel, with Ganondorf's armor absorbing some small blows while his sword turned aside others, and the General's shield showed the scores of turning aside those tremendous chops that the King of the Desert kept bringing down. It was difficult to keep track of them, but one thing kept presenting itself over and over: the General knew how Ganondorf fought, and was using it against him.

The king swung at the knight with a horizontal slash, and when it was deflected in the same direction as the swing he was overbalanced. The General bashed him in the face with his shield, sending him staggering – and then leaped over him, chopping at his face as he flipped in midair. Ganondorf roared and staggered forward, face covered with blood from a blow that should have cloven his skull in half. No, he wasn't human anymore, the soldier decided. Not even close.

Another turn, another wild swing, this time barely deflected with a grunt. He kicked out with his foot, connecting solidly with the General's chest, sending the smaller man careening backwards. He landed on his ass, got up with a hiss as Ganondorf wiped the blood from his eyes, and then the two were in each other's face again.

The sound of steel on steel increased in tempo until it was like rain falling, their bodies becoming blurs surrounded by the orbit of metal that roared out of control. It was amazing to watch, a thing of almost surreal beauty, and when the soldier looked up he noted that the guards at the windows of the tower were looking down at the spectacle, too. He thought they might have been shouting orders to one another, but he could not hear it over the din of the fight.

The two clashed together, sword locking against sword, and the wizard and the knight pushed against each other with all of their strength. Their faces were so close they nearly touched, both grimacing with effort and fury, eyes of fire meeting eyes the color of ice. Ganondorf was bleeding, but the General was breathing so hard, now. He was getting tired. Soon he would slow while Ganondorf remained inexhaustible, and that would be the end of him. It would be the end of all of them.

At the very extremity of his strength, when his arms were about to give out against the force of the evil king, the General reared back his head and smashed his helmet into Ganondorf's nose. The king roared, staggered, and the General pushed hard enough to send him stumbling. He stepped back too, creating a space between them, trying to use the distance to his advantage.

There was a terrible silence as Ganondorf wiped his face with one massive hand, slung the blood away onto the grass. His eyes were calculating, eager, interested; he could see the General's exhaustion, could smell the end of this fight.

"You are good, boy. Maybe the best. But it won't be enough." He hefted the sword carefully in his hand, rested his free palm against the pommel. "Are you ready to die?"

The General said nothing, his face betrayed nothing. After a moment he sheathed his sword.

The guard's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Ganondorf's laughter echoed throughout the courtyard.

"So be it! Die with dignity: you will still _DIE!_" He charged.

He did not see the General's arm rise, his fingers wrapped carefully around the hilt of his sword. The guard's breath caught in his throat, and he did not notice the tears streaming down his own face. Ganondorf's footsteps were thunder, the massive Gerudo blade raised for a stroke that would rend the world in twain. The distance between him and the General disappeared.

The blade came down as the General drew his sword and cut in the same motion, Ganondorf's eyes were wide with realization and terror, and that look of war in the General's face was gone: in that moment he was at peace.

Steel bit into flesh, and steel bit into flesh. The sound was solid, meaty, and simultaneous.

Ganondorf staggered backward, a crimson gash laid open across his torso. He breathed in huge, ragged gasps, and fell back. He landed with a thud, his breathing loud and labored, but he was alive.

The General stepped forward, the Gerudo sword buried in his shoulder, having nearly cloven down to his heart. He dropped his sword onto the grass. Blood ran freely from between his teeth, which were bared in a grimace of pain as he turned away from Ganondorf, walked to the stone steps of the tower, and sat on them. The guard came running out of the shadows as the General lay back, his eyes falling closed.

"General! General!" The door to the tower burst open, but he reached the General first. He knelt next to the greatest man in the kingdom, took one gauntleted hand in his own. "General, please!"

The General opened his eyes as the palace guard swarmed around them and past them, rushing over to Ganondorf. They heard cries of "He's still alive! Bind him!" and other things, but the words didn't pierce the silence between this one guard and his Hero.

"General, you have to hold on. The healers will be here soon. It's going to be okay."

Those cold blue eyes locked with his – and how did he ever think they were cold in the first place? There were warm and soft, the gentlest eyes he had ever seen in his entire life. There was compassion in them, compassion for the loss that must have been written all over his face, but there was something else, too: courage, and duty.

"The..." The General coughed. Oh gods, how much blood could one man have? "The... Princess..."

"Alive, sir. She's safe and sound. You did it. She's all right. There's no more danger."

The General nodded.

"Please... my helmet..."

The guard was as gentle as he could be, unclasping the helmet with one hand and lifting it off with more care than he had used in handling his own children. The General's eyes were closed.

"General! Please, sir, you have to stay awake!"

Those blue eyes opened again, and there were tears in them.

"I am ... sorry."

"Sir?"

"Tell them... tell them all... I tried so hard. It was too ... too much." He coughed again, swallowed blood, looked at the guard with steel in his expression. "You must tell them. Everything I did... any of them... can do. Only need ... the courage."

He nodded, because he could not speak without weeping.

"My daughter... tell her... be a good, strong girl..." He squeezed the guard's hand so hard it hurt. "_Tell her_."

"Yes... yes, sir."

The General nodded, and his eyes looked at nothing. "Good. Now... rest. Just need... to rest." He leaned his head back, closed his eyes. His breathing was so shallow that the guard could feel the thread of his life pulled taut.

"Make way!" A voice said, and the guard looked up, and there she was in the doorway: the Princess Zelda, sword in hand, flanked by her attendant. The Sheikah woman averted her eyes from the sight of the General as the Princess's sword slipped from her fingers, clattering heavily on the stone.

The guard rose, stepped back, knelt to her – as the rest of the guards did. She paid no mind to any of them, walked to the General, knelt on the blood-slicked steps, cradled his head in her arms. She leaned down to him, whispered something that none of them could hear. The General's eyes opened, and whatever he said was so weak that she had to put her ear to his bloodied lips to hear it. Then his eyes closed – for the last time – and he was still. For a long moment there was silence, and she pulled off one of her gloves with her teeth, and held her hand before his nostrils, felt at his throat for a pulse.

She leaned her head down, kissed his mouth, and began to weep.

She held his head against her and wept, and wept, and wept.

None of the men and women present would ever admit to seeing their future Queen weep; they would never admit to the extremity of her sorrow, would never speak of how she spoke the General's name over and over, but it would be burned in their memories for the rest of their lives. No voice had ever been so anguished, speaking one name:

"Link..."


End file.
